


practice makes perfect

by orphan_account



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Pre-Fall of Overwatch, Wire Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 15:45:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8452258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Remember what you said?” McCree asks. “‘Bout bein’ kinda… high strung?” He licks his lips. “Well, I wanna try somethin’.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> i dont really............ write porn........... usually........  
> ...it shows........

* * *

 

The first time it happens, is an accident.

Genji’s recklessness isn’t particularly new, but it’s certainly heightened in his new body. It’s hard to feel pain while being constantly covered in armour, hard to feel anything, really, which is why Genji ends up in emergency repairs more often than not.

“God fuckin’. Shit.” McCree wipes the sweat off his brow, and tries to make heads and tails of the wires protruding from Genji’s thigh. “You just had to pull shit like this  _ now _ , didn’t you?” 

Genji shifts, uncomfortable; McCree’s disappointment always does something to him, something low, sinking, and Genji doesn’t know how to feel about  _ that _ , so he sets the sensation aside, mostly.

“I apologise,” Genji mutters, and McCree pulls out a green wire, severed at the end, and then a yellow, bringing them together. “Perhaps you should only connect those of the same c--” Genji’s cut off by a shudder that rakes through his whole body, curls down to the toes he no longer has, and he’s suddenly a lot more breathless than he had been before, inhaling sharply.

McCree looks up at him, brows furrowed, and Genji feels himself blush,  _ actually blush _ , beneath the visor, embarrassed. 

“Shit I-- sorry, did that hurt?” McCree asks, earnest as ever, and despite the coiling heat low in his gut, Genji somehow finds the room to be  _ endeared _ . How despicable.

“No,” he says, because McCree hadn’t meant it, and Genji can’t blame him for…  _ that _ . If it had been anyone else, perhaps Genji would feel uncomfortable, but as it stands… “Do not worry about it, it did not hurt.”

McCree breathes out a sigh of relief. “Good,” he mumbles, and goes back to plugging wires of the same colour together, mumbling beneath his breath.

It hadn’t been a lie, at the very least; what Genji had felt --that hadn’t been pain. Not even close to.   
  


 

 

 

 

 

The second time is, also, in hindsight, an accident. 

They’re making out, as they often do, between missions, and of all the body parts Genji had been able to keep, he’s thankful that he gets his face, if nothing else.

Even if it is scarred, discoloured, deformed; McCree doesn’t seem to mind as he sighs against Genji's lips, content.

Genji enjoys the feeling of McCree’s tongue in his mouth, really, he does, but it can also be frustrating, to be so… mentally stimulated, and have no physical way to relieve it. His mind leaps at the build up, but the rest of Genji is unable to follow. It’s the main problem with feeling the world at a somewhat muted pace, every genuine touch, every genuine sensation, is over stimulating, makes Genji’s brain leap to the endgame instead of enjoying the present. 

It’s  _ frustrating _ , like bubbles building in a can of lemonade that will never be opened, and it’s bleeding into everything else, every bad guy at the end of Genji’s sword, every drone taken down during training, every grunt smothered by McCree’s mouth.

“Are you okay?” McCree asks, pulling back, hair all mussed from where Genji had been tugging at it --perhaps too forcefully, to most, but McCree seems to enjoy it that way. 

“I am fine,” Genji replies, passive-aggressive, and surges back into the kiss until McCree pulls away, frowning.

“You seem kinda…” he trails off. “Angry?” He swallows, licking his lips nervously. “Is somethin’ wrong?”

Genji scowls, and feels naked with the fact that McCree can see it, resisting the urge to refit his faceplate despite the pleasant tingle in his lips. “It is nothing to do with you,” Genji says --lies, really, since it has  _ everything  _ to do with McCree. Genji had thought he could get past it, needs like…  _ that _ , and then McCree waltzed into his life and shoved it so far out the door Genji can’t remember the thought being anything more than a naive dream. Genji is only human --or at least,  _ mostly _ human-- and despite the fact that there are many who never feel the necessity of… gratification, Genji, unfortunately, is not one of them.

“What’s wrong?” McCree asks, genuinely worried, and Genji  _ hates it _ . McCree is both selfish and selfless, uncaring and yet caring too much, too deeply, he’s a bundle of contradictions and pieces that don’t line up or fit together, but still make a full picture. Genji hates it, most of all, because it makes his human-heart do stupid, stupid things within his not-so-human chest.

Genji bites his lip, and decides that honesty is --at least when it comes to McCree-- the best course of action. “I have not… been able to…” Genji really wishes he could hide behind his faceplate right now, because even without seventy percent of his body, of  _ course _ he can still fucking blush. “It has been a long time since I have… relieved myself.” He decides on, lamely --if you count the time since being murdered by his brother and given a second chance at life as  _ long _ .

Genji shakes the thoughts away; they’re quite the turn-off.

McCree blinks at him, and then has the nerve to  _ laugh _ . “You’ve got blue balls, huh?” 

 

Genji rolls his eyes, crossing his arms, but relents. “I no longer have  _ balls _ ,” he admits, albeit crudely. “But… essentially.” Apparently, the sex drive is entirely related to the brain. Who could've guessed.

Jesse’s smile twitches. “We ain’t gotta do uh.” He clears his throat. “Stimulatin’ sorta stuff if you’re not enjoyin’ it, y’know.”

Genji sighs in frustration, and hides his face. “I believe that is the problem,” he confesses, cheeks warm. “I  _ do _ enjoy it.”

McCree smiles, lopsided, obviously smug --Genji hates it, and wants to kiss it, all at once. “So what now?” McCree asks, scratching his cheek. “Do you wanna stop…?”

Genji shakes his head, perhaps too eagerly. “No,” he says, firm. “I most definitely do not wish to stop.” Not now, he thinks, not ever.

And that’s another McCree related feeling that Genji’s just going to shove deep, deep down and hope to never deal with.

“Mmkay,” McCree replies, and reconnects their mouths, but more softer, tender, caring. Genji grunts into it, and tugs at McCree’s hair to tell him that this is no time to be going  _ slow _ . McCree smiles against his mouth in return, and Genji takes the opportunity to lick into McCree’s mouth, eliciting a groan. 

“Fuck,” McCree says suddenly, panting, and this time it’s Genji’s turn to smirk. McCree’s hand cups Genji’s cheek, and the touch of it sends goosebumps racing along his skin as McCree’s other hand hitches Genji’s thigh up and pushes him down on the couch so that they’re lying flat, Genji’s leg hooked around McCree’s waist.

Experimentally, Genji lifts his other leg, if only slightly, to see if McCree is as excited by Genji’s touch as Genji is by his, and finds he is not disappointed, as McCree  _ hisses _ .

“Careful there sweetheart,” McCree breathes out, brown skin flushed to a darker colour with  _ want _ . “Ain’t exactly fair if I get off and you don’t, is it?”

Genji shrugs, but from where he’s lying it’s a little bit stiff, McCree’s hand still a solid pressure on the underside of his thigh. “If you are asking me to stop--” he says, and McCree shakes his head immediately.

“Uh,  _ no _ ,” McCree says, almost urgent. “If it‘s okay with you I--” 

Genji presses his thigh up in response and McCree cuts off with a groan. 

“You’re cruel,” he mumbles, grinding down in response, and Genji grins as he kisses McCree, swallowing up his groans. They find a sort of rhythm in it, Genji’s thigh up, McCree’s crotch down, and eventually Genji stops moving just to enjoy the sight of it; McCree, rutting against his thigh in a desperate attempt to get the correct pressure, hand finally falling from Genji’s thigh as he braces them on either side of Genji’s head to try and get a better angle.

Genji can’t help but smile wider --partly sadistic, partly animalistic from McCree’s sheer arousal rubbing off on him.

“Here,” Genji guides, using a hand to cup McCree’s face and guiding his chin downwards, to kiss Genji, so focused on the kiss that he stops thrusting, if only momentarily. Genji opens his eyes, half-lidded, and enjoys the attentive furrow of Jesse’s brow, subtly readjusting himself so that the synthetic flesh of his crotch lines up with Jesse’s, thrusting upwards suddenly. 

It's much better friction, apparently, as McCree pulls back, inhaling. “Sh-Shit Genji I--” He pants, too breathless to finish his sentence, and Genji enjoys the way his face contorts as he tries to hold himself in. It’s almost funny, grinding like this --Genji can feel the slight pressure of McCree against where his dick had once been, but there’s no longer any sort of pleasure in it, just a slight, pressing feeling.

“Do it, Jesse,” Genji whispers, biting the skin beneath McCree’s jaw where it meets the side of his neck, thrusting up violently, just once. “Come.”

And he does.

Jesse groans, pulling himself off of Genji until they’re both sitting up, and hides his face between his hands, one eye peeking through the cracks of his fingers embarrassedly. 

“Just had to make me ruin my pants, didn’t you?” He mumbles, scrubbing at his eyes and pulling his hands back as he looks down at his crotch, wincing. 

Genji grins --he can’t help himself. “Yes.” He says, simply, and finds himself sort of sated, somewhat, because there had been a sort of gratification in making McCree do that, too.

“You’re the worst,” McCree mutters, but kisses Genji, slowly, but in a way that’s no longer frustrating. His hand rests on Genji’s thigh, and as he pulls away, he squeezes once, meant to be reassuring, but instead his nails dig too far into the synthetic flesh --and Genji’s breath hitches.

“‘M gonna take a shower,” McCree mumbles, oblivious to the way Genji can’t form words, and pulls away from the kiss, leaving Genji’s quarters. Even as he walks away, Genji can’t tear his eyes from his own thigh, staring at the place where Jesse’s nail had… dug into  _ something _ , and, by proxy, dug into something a lot  _ deeper _ . “You okay?”

“Hm?” Genji raises his head, and stares at McCree, words failing him entirely, let alone english ones. “I am… It is nothing, do not worry.” 

McCree frowns, unconvinced, but lets it slide. “Mmkay,” he decides on, smiling weakly and heading to the showers, skeptical, but considerate all the same.

Genji’s eyes just flit back to the spot on his thigh. What in the  _ hell _ …

  
  


 

 

 

 

The third time? Not so much of an accident. 

Genji tilts his head as he places his sheathe in the stand beside the door. “What are you reading?”

McCree jumps from his spot on Genji’s couch, caught off guard, and the holo-pad shuts off with a click of finality as he scratches the back of his head --which means he’s probably about to lie. 

“Nothin’,” McCree says, and yep, _definitely_ a lie.

Genji’s eyes narrow, hidden beneath the faceplate. “So all those words and diagrams had been…?” 

McCree smiles flirtatiously. “Somethin’ to pass the time while I waited for  _ you _ ~” 

Genji rolls his eyes, but the gesture goes useless, as most of Genji’s expressions often do. No matter how much time he spends behind a mask, he always forgets to steel his face completely --it is decidedly human of him, Genji thinks, fleetingly, even if the rest of him is not.

McCree licks his lips, sensing the shift in Genji's thoughts. “They were actually files I uh. Borrowed from Mercy.” He admits.

Genji’s eyebrows raise --once again,  _ pointless _ . “You stole medical files?” He asks, as confused as he is caught off guard. “ _ Why _ ?”

“Remember what you said?” McCree asks. “‘Bout bein’ kinda… high strung?” He licks his lips, eager in a way that Genji cannot name. “Well, I wanna try somethin’.”

“Okay…” Genji says, hesitantly, afraid almost, and braces himself even as McCree’s hands raise to release the faceplate from his mask, falling with a soft  _ click _ . It’s stupid, how often McCree has done this, and how each and every time Genji still expects repulsion, disgust, and yet, finds none.

McCree kisses him, and it’s as reassuring as it always is at the beginning, before their inert natures overcome them and it grows more heated, more hungry, rough and desperate in a way that only belongs to them. It’s a nice way to relax after a day of training, Genji thinks, and pretty routine for them, too, as McCree hitches both of Genji’s legs to wrap around his waist and presses him against the door. Genji groans, feeling that same, frustration bubble up beneath his skin, and digs his fingers into McCree’s hair, tugging. 

“You’re gonna wanna sit down for this,” McCree mumbles, and deposits Genji until he’s sitting on the edge of his own bed, mattress springing slightly. 

“Well?” Genji prompts, eyebrow raised as McCree just stands above him, hunched over, and licks his lips. 

“This is gonna be… uh.” He clears his throat. “Not what I’m used to at all so. Stop me if somethin’s wrong, okay?” 

Genji purses his lips, confused, but nods all the same. He trusts McCree, always will --here, in the bedroom, where his faceplate is discarded and his heart is left bare, unguarded, more than anywhere else.

McCree grunts as he falls to his knees and then reaches up to kiss Genji, the latter humming contentedly as McCree’s hands peel off the Overwatch Jumpsuit and help him shimmy out of it --miraculously so, since he’s sitting down.  
McCree’s hand rests on the inside of Genji’s thigh, dormant, and his fingertips fiddle with the edge of the panel. “Is this okay?” He asks.

Genji furrows his brow; if McCree wants to open a panel then sure, he can have the time of his life, Genji supposes. “Of course,” Genji replies, still confused. “What are you--”

McCree digs through the wires, and then unplugs two of them, yellow and green, and Genji faintly thinks that he can no longer feel his left foot, but that he doesn’t really mind, if this is going where he think it is. 

“I was readin’ Mercy’s files on your body,” McCree admits, licking his lips, twiddling the wires between his index and middle fingers. “And about how your nerves connect together.”

“Oh.” Genji says.  _ Oh _ .

“They’re supposed to respond like normal nerves, sendin’ signals with pressure ‘n stuff, but I think she mighta… simplified some of the pathways, when it came to workin’ out the nerves down here.” McCree, still on his knees, bites his cheek, and it’s a strangely hesitant expression, coming from a man who is so headstrong in everything else. “And I noticed after that one time that you kinda..." He clears his throat. "Like I said, this is gonna be real different to what I’m used to, so if you ain’t comfortable--”

“Do it,” Genji says, breathless with just the thought of it, of McCree, working through medical jargon and pages of indecipherable files just for  _ this _ , of McCree, so desperate to help Genji  _ for _ Genji that he bothers with the effort, of the idea that Genji might finally,  _ finally _ be getting some proper  _ relief _ , and from the man he sort-of somewhat loves, or something. (Another thought to leave for a future self.)

He is, Genji realises, above all else:  _ excited _ .

McCree smirks, and plugs the two wires together. 

Genji’s breath hitches, and then he pants from the sensation, too haphazard to truly understand. Whereas he is  _ used _ to sexual stimulation occurring around his crotch, this is… different, somehow, more… full-body, almost, not just in the area where his dick had once been but in the phantom remnants of what still passes for his body.

It feels fucking incredible.

“Jesse,” Genji breathes out. “ _ Again _ .”

McCree hums, smirk turned sly. “”Course,” he says, but instead of connecting the green and yellow wires, tugs at a blue one.

It causes the same sort of stimulation but… different, somehow? Sharper, quicker, but…  _ more _ . Genji's hands fist around the sheets. “Jesse--” He pants, back arching. “I-- I need--” McCree tugs at another wire and Genji  _ writhes _ \--how long has it been since he had last felt…  _ this? _  Being turned on, not as much, but being  _ relieved of it? _

“P-Please,” Genji says, too goddamn  _ desperate _ to be embarrassed by the sheer begging tone of his voice, but moaning all the same as McCree tugs at another wire and presses their mouths together, Genji’s eyes slipping shut. McCree seems to find a feel for it, eyes open in focus as both his hands unplug and replug certain wires, tugging lightly at others while his tongue fucks into Genji’s mouth. “Sh-Shit,” Genji curses, close to  _ something _ , and just as he thinks he’s about to reach it, McCree fumbles with the wires, and drops them, losing his grip.

“Fuck,” he swears, and Genji lets out a whiny, breathless groan of frustration at having been so  _ close _ yet  _ still _ being left hung up to dry. McCree fumbles with the plethora of thin wires between his fingers, trying to find the correct ones again. When he finally does, which he does so after what seems like an eternity, he grins, and kisses Genji as he pinches the wire, still close to-- to  _ something _ , but not close  _ enough _ .

“ _ Jesse _ ,” Genji moans, and digs his hand in the back of McCree’s neck so that their mouths are together, warm and wet. 

“One last thing I wanna try,” he mumbles against Genji's mouth, and falls down to his knees, a hand on each thigh, pushing them apart lightly. “Is this--”

“Do not even  _ think  _ about stopping,” Genji inputs, touched by McCree’s genuine concern but growing too impatient to care. “I am so  _ close _ \--”

And in the end, Genji wonders if it’s more the sight of what Jesse does than it is the actual sensation: Jesse, on his knees, mouth red and slick from where Genji had kissed him, hair mussed from his hands, Jesse, kneeling between Genji’s thighs and flicking out his tongue to reach around a group of wires and placing them between his teeth, Jesse biting down on every single wire and  _ tugging _ . 

Genji falls back completely against the bed, back arching, and groans, chest heaving in sheer relief and pleasure, panting as it shakes through his body. McCree crawls up from the ground, grinning, and kisses him languidly, braced above him, right as the steam vents in Genji’s shoulder hiss and then retract, clicking with finality as they so often do only after physical exertion. 

McCree pulls back, grinning in wonder. “Did you just--”

“Yes.” Genji admits, breathless. “I-- I believe?” He’s not really sure  _ what _ that had been in the scheme of things; it had certainly been no orgasm by usual human standards, almost… better? In a way? More… full body encompassing. Fuck, he’s way too elated to give a shit about the finite details. “Thank you Jesse,” he says, earnestly. “That was--”

Jesse grins and stretches back, smug. “I’ve been told I’m great in bed,” he teases, sly. “Don’t worry, I know.”

Genji raises an eyebrow in assessment. “Funny,” he says. “From the man who came his pants last week.”

McCree frowns, mock-hurt. “Harsh.” He pouts, but kisses Genji's laugh anyway.

“Now,” Genji says, hands wandering, biting his lip as McCree hovers above him, blinking in confusion. “Your turn.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The next day, Mercy inspects the remains with a frown on her face.

“What… happened?” She asks, blinking at the open panel on Genji’s thigh as wires spring from it, pulled out of place and disconnected, too damaged to be put back into place.

“A stray bullet,” Genji supplies, at the same time Jesse says, “Swordplay gone wrong.”

They exchange glances, and beneath the faceplate, Genji’s grin matches Jesse’s own.   
Mercy holds her hands up, shaking her head. “I've changde my mind,” she says, and almost  _ grimaces, _ Genji thinks, from the corner of his eye. “I do not want to know.”

* * *


End file.
